Gravity
by Levimycorpus
Summary: Newt simply wanted to fly and be free. But he was no bird. His wings had long since been clipped; he would never transcend gravity. His only option was the Swan Dive. A look into depression, suicide, and the uncertain road to recovery. Mature themes. Language. [AU]
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All rights go to James Dashner.**

 **Summary: Newt just wanted to fly and be free. But he was no bird. His wings had long since been clipped. He would never transcend gravity. His only option was the Swan Dive. A look into depression, suicide, and the uncertain road to recovery. [AU]**

 **Rating: Mature. This story tackles dark, serious issues surrounding mental illness. Sexual themes will be discussed, mostly involving minors in the beginning. Potential sexual abuse involving a person in a position of authority over another will be discussed as well. Other types of sexual abuse may be mentioned. There will be no graphic depiction of said abuse. Verbal abuse of children will occur. Some neglect of animals will be mentioned. A major character's death will be brought up all throughout the story. Finally, racism, sexism and homophobia will also partake in the story, paired with corresponding crude and offensive language.**

 **This story is centered on Newt's battle against his own mind and his past. Yes, a relationship will develop between him and Thomas, but it will be a slow burn, and it will not begin right away. Newt is simply not in a mindset that can sustain such a bond.**

 **Yet.**

–

Prologue

The apartment was both cold and somber. The walls were grey, the blinds shut, and Apple was whimpering in her cage.

Dust had settled on many of Newt's possessions, starting with his textbooks and computer. Even the television had succumbed, having gone untouched for weeks. The food in his refrigerator had also long since spoiled, and it filled the kitchen with its rotten smell.

Not that Newt gave a shit anymore.

Leaning on the kitchen counter, Newt was desperately trying to enjoy the lunch he had bought. He had crossed town specifically to buy these Chinese noodles, as they were once his favorite meal. He had made sure not to eat anything that day, yet even the first bites were a struggle. As he felt his mouth water, he put his fork down and began inhaling slowly, deeply. Being no stranger to nausea, he knew better than to stay in the ill-smelling kitchen. While making his way to his room, he cursed himself for his naïveté.

 _Bloody good idea this was. A waste of a perfectly good meal. As if I could've eaten all of that. Damn it. Breathe. Come on, just breathe. I am not fucking puking right now. Not today. I'm not going with an aftertaste of bile and vomit. No fucking way._

Calming down, he dared to take a sip of water, hoping it would help. When it did, he decided it was time to change into his favorite clothes. He owned very little apparel and did not care for fashion; these were favorites because of their origin. They had been given to him by a brother. He had been quite young when he had received them and had naturally outgrown them. Yet, gaunt and frail as he now was, he found that he could fit in them once again. The thought almost made him smile, as it reminded him of better times.

Eyeing himself in the mirror, Newt wondered if he looked somewhat different. Didn't people look different in the end? His reflection greeted him with a frown and an otherwise blank, lifeless expression. He concluded that he did not in fact look any different than usual. _I pretty much look dead already anyway._

–

Apple was whining again. Newt figured she disliked being confined in her cage. _Feels terrible, doesn't it? You just want to be free. Yeah. Me too._ He considered his dog. What had possessed him to adopt her? Get a pet, people had said. It would help, they had proclaimed. He would supposedly not feel as alone with her, and she would love him unconditionally. It should've been beneficial, having something to take care of. _Why, what a great idea. Can't even take care of myself._

Newt gave his apartment one last glance. He wasn't going to miss this miserable excuse for a home. He left his keys on the kitchen table, took Apple, still in her cage, and exited through the front door, leaving it unlocked. _No need to._

–

 _How?_

 _Now, that's just too easy. A free fall. A nice, constant acceleration downwards. No need to do anything, the Earth's mass will attract me. Just need some potential energy; the pull of gravity will do the rest. Sir Isaac fucking Newton would be proud from his grave._

 _Where?_

 _Nowhere flashy or packed with people. Somewhere remote and calm. Someplace I like. Maybe the overland bridge, close to Ninth Street, the one with the rails. It's in that industrial part of town that I like. All metallic and monochrome, filled with smoke and abandoned factories. It's beautiful in a way, or at least I used to think so. Most importantly, it's deserted._

 _When?_

 _When I'm sure no one will miss me._

–

Apple was crying when Newt left her at the animal shelter. She was a damn cute pup, Newt had no doubt that some bloke would adopt her and give her the attention she deserved. He just didn't have the patience to play with her or, on his worse days, even acknowledge her. Twice he forgot to feed her and never quite forgave himself for it. What should've been a friend and a ball of joy had only become a source of anxiety and self-contempt. All things he desperately wanted to get rid of. _Got enough of that, thank you very much._ He gave her one last look before exiting the shelter, feeling more relieved than guilty. This was for the best. And it had been the last step. He had no more responsibilities; Apple had been the last thing that depended on him. His impression on the universe had finally been nullified. His life no longer had an impact on the world and, thankfully, nor would his death. He wouldn't have to worry about collateral damage. He would hurt no one. Free of any obligation to others, Newt would greet death with a peaceful conscience and an open mind.

Listening to songs he enjoyed, he slowly made his way through the city. He liked having a plan, having somewhere specific to go. It gave him the sense of purpose he longed for. As per usual, his actions felt passive but, in this particular moment, he also felt somewhat collected. His state of mind was composed, almost serene. He simply could not help it: he was glad that it would all be over. Never would he feel like shit again. Never would anything hurt again. Hell, maybe he would even see his brother again, although he wasn't really counting on it. The afterlife was not something he particularly believed in. But hey, who knew. At this point, he had everything to gain and, frankly, pretty much nothing to lose.

He was following the rails. No trains were scheduled that Sunday. He had checked. He walked at a gentle pace, taking in his surroundings. When he arrived at the middle of the overland bridge, he stopped and admired the view. Skies were grey and the air was thick. From the smoke, his throat tingled. Some factories were illuminated and alive, while others were desolate, their windows broken and walls decorated with graffiti.

 _Tough world, isn't it? Not meant for everyone._

Newt climbed on the edge of the bridge. He didn't hesitate. He took in his last lungful of air. Then he took his last step.

He flew.

–

 **A/N. This is the first fanfiction I've written. I'm slightly scared, but very excited. I have an outline of the story, and I will try to update regularly, although I don't know at what pace yet, as this is all new to me. Next update should give us an idea of what my pace is.**

 **Following this prologue, I expect chapters will be longer.**

 **Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Constructive criticism is more than welcomed. Really. I want to learn. I'd be more than glad if you pointed out mistakes and weaknesses.**

 **Thank you so much for reading!**

 **-Levi**


	2. Inertia

Inertia

 **Isaac Newton's first law of motion, the law of inertia:**

 **A body will remain at rest if the sum of the forces acting upon it is nil. Furthermore, a body in motion will continue moving at the same speed and in the same direction until a non-nil force acts upon it.**

 **Thus, in the absence of an external force, matter tends to keep progressing in the direction it has taken.**

–

Our connection with the world depends on a 3 lbs. assortment of neurons, glial cells and blood vessels, forming the astonishingly complex organ that is the brain. It receives and analyses all stimuli. For example, a loud, banging noise will mean nothing until the brain decrypts it. Ears are simply auditory receptors; they cannot make sense of what they're receiving. Through afferent nerves, the stimulus makes its way to the thalamus, where it is dispatched to the auditory cortex, in order to be analyzed and, perhaps, even understood. The prefrontal cortex also comes into play, as it is the home of rationality in the brain. Once the auditory cortex identifies the sound as that of a _bang_ , the prefrontal would, among other things, take into consideration its surroundings and decide whether or not the _bang_ in question is dangerous. For instance, given that it was holiday season and that laughter could also be heard, the brain would come to the conclusion that the source of the _bang_ was a firework and not, say, a gunshot.

Newt was very much aware of this. He also knew that, in order for the brain to accomplish these tasks, it needed to be alive. Water, nutrients and oxygen were necessary. Nervous impulse, or any organic process for that matter, could only occur within a living, functioning host.

Therefore, when he began detecting noises, Newt was naturally somewhat surprised. At first, he could barely distinguish them, only noting that they were loud, aggressive. It was cacophonic and uncomfortable. For the longest time, he couldn't even form a coherent thought. Confusion was all he felt.

Eventually, as he slowly drifted out of unconsciousness, his senses began to resurface. The sounds were clearer; he recognized an exasperating, periodic beeping and… a voice?

He could sense that he was being touched, moved, tossed. The taste of blood was on his tongue. And pain. Oh, it was everywhere. Pounding in his head. A heavy ache accompanying each rise and fall of his chest. And his leg. _Jesus Christ._ His leg was shrieking. When he felt it being grabbed, his leg raged, sending stabbing waves of pain through his body. Newt screamed. His eyes flew open. He couldn't see clearly. He couldn't hear. There was only his leg and the fire it burned with.

Then, in an instant, his leg was released. A grunt escaped Newt's lips, as he exhaled the air he had been holding on to. While every fiber of his body still ached, he had at least regained the ability to think. Somewhat relieved, he dared to look around.

He was lying on his back in what appeared to be a stiff bed. Head on, he was confronted with a luminous ceiling that didn't agree with his headache. A brace of sorts was steadying his neck, restricting movement and, consequently, his peripheral vision as well. Slightly to his left, he could see tubes, connected to some machinery that kept beeping.

 _Ah, there's the culprit. A cardiac monitor, how swell. So, I'm in a hospital. And I'm fine and dandy. Gotta give it to yourself Newtie, it's not easy to fuck up a free fall._

Squinting, Newt tried to discern the numbers on the monitor. 106. His cardiac rhythm. It was very high, clinically he was in tachycardia. 87/66. His blood pressure, very low, and very much in hypotension. _So I've bleed a shitton, haven't I? You lose blood, so your BP drops, but your heart doesn't know that the blood is pouring out, now does it? It just knows that there isn't as much of it. Still, it's gotta do its job; get that oxygen to the cells. But there isn't as much blood, so its only option is to beat faster and faster._

 _Funny thing is, by doing so, it just accelerates the hemorrhage, since it pumps the blood out all the quicker._

 _Didn't do the trick for me, though. Oh, no. Here I am, still alive, getting some brand new shiny blood shoved in my veins._

Newt stared at the intravenous tube piercing his arm, not knowing how he felt about it. The blood of strangers flowing through his body made him uneasy. Who were they? What had they done with their lives? Without any further information, Newt didn't know if the foreign blood was tainting him, or if he even deserved it.

His pondering was interrupted when he felt his leg being touched again. All thoughts fled his mind. A scream teared through his throat. "FUCK!" he roared.

"Sorry," answered a woman's voice, "just trying to change the bandages." The voice moved toward him and a face appeared to his left. "Mr. Phillips, right? Newton Phillips," he glared at her, "I'm Rena, your nurse. You're in the hospital, you had a pretty bad fall. I'll page Doctor Eddard, he'll explain everything to you."

And so, Newt waited. He felt powerless, being all wired up and, as far as he could tell, broken. He could barely move. In that moment, pain and disappointment were all he had. _At least I can feel my leg, right? And God do I feel it. Guess I should be thankful, yeah? Means I'm not paralyzed. Almost wish I was, right this second._

He concentrated on breathing slowly, deeply, regularly. His heart rate and respiration were elevated, and he tried to calm down. _Deep breathing, meditation and all that crap's supposed to help with pain, isn't it?_ Skeptical, yet willing to try anything to ease his suffering, Newt struggled to breathe with his diaphragm. He closed his eyes. _In. And out. In. And out._ Minutes passed, or so he thought. When he opened his eyes again, his heart rate was in the nineties per minute. _Still high, but not tachycardia high._

He wondered why he even cared. Hadn't he tried to die? Why try to keep his heart rate down now? He could've tried hyperventilating, aiming for cardiac arrest. His rationalization was that he wanted to go on his own terms, not in these conditions. Yes, that was it. Besides, his current motivation was simply to avoid pain, not to stay alive.

Footsteps approached. A middle-aged lab coat now stood before him. "I'm Dr. Eddard, I'll be your physician today," he said with a warm, sympathetic smile. "How're we feeling?"

Newt frowned. "Like we took a nice dive straight onto concrete, I'm guessing," he muttered. In truth, Newt was disappointed. A familiar feeling of failure was creeping up on him, one he had desperately hoped the fall would dissolve.

His throat was sore. He tried clearing it, "My leg?"

"You've suffered multiple injuries following your fall, including the fracture of your left leg. You also lost a lot of blood. You're currently in the Intensive Care Department in order to get yourself stabilized." He looked at some charts, then at the cardiac monitor, "Your heart rate's slowed down already. That's good. Once the transfusion's done and your blood pressure is up, we'll get some X-rays of that leg. How's that sound?" Lab coat was smiling again. Newt fought the urge to roll his eyes, "Multiple injuries you said. So, what else?"

"Well, like I said, a pretty serious hemorrhage. Your head also took a hit. You may have a concussion. Are you experiencing any discomfort? Any sound or light sensitivity? Loss of memory?"

"Discomfort?" Newt spat, almost amused. _More like a hammer going at it on my skull, but yeah, sure, let's go with discomfort_. "Some of that, yeah. And I can't stand these lights," Newt said, looking at the ceiling. "My chest hurts too."

"Where?" the doctor asked, applying pressure on various areas. "Right there," Newt groaned.

"One of your ribs, yes. Bruised, fissured maybe. Hopefully not broken. The X-rays will let us know. As for your head, rest is the best way to treat a concussion," he began, "There were also, well, some other issues that need to be addressed. Unrelated to your fall, I mean." He was looking at the charts again. "Your blood work showed a significant iron and multi-vitamin deficiency which, in addition to your being underweight, indicates malnutrition. Since you've woken up, I also couldn't help but notice that you've been..." he paused, looking in the distance, trying to find the right word, "apathetic? Yes, apathetic," he concluded, as if proud of his eloquence. "Well, you may not have known this, but weight loss, undereating and generalized apathy are all serious symptoms of depression," he paused again, a layer of concern coating his face. Edging closer, he put a strong arm on Newt's shoulder, "Mr. Phillips," he said solemnly, before dramatically taking in a long breath, "Were you attempting to end your own life?"

Newt almost burst out laughing.

–

The X-rays displayed a fissured rib and a compound fracture of the leg, which was fancy slang for an open facture. Both tibia and fibula were sliced. Since it was open or rather, _compound_ , surgery was needed. All open fractures required surgery, at least for _irrigation_ or, in the common tongue, to clean up the wound. Doctor 'Lab Coat' Eddard had decided on a more invasive course of action, though: after the routine irrigation, they had performed an open reduction and an internal fixation. Essentially, Newt's leg had been opened up, his scattered bones had been repositioned, and everything had been set straight with the aid of a metallic rod. Then, he had been stitched right back up and had been sent to the PACU, the Post-Anesthetic Care Unit, where he peacefully lay in an anesthesia-induced state of unconsciousness.

–

Numerous times had Newt heard about the efficiency of general anesthesia, but it was nothing compared to the actual experience. Waking up in the PACU, he was quite surprised. Were he to be honest with himself, he'd have admitted to being properly impressed. He clearly remembered breathing from the mask, and then being told to count back from ten. Somewhere between six and five, it had all went to black.

And now here he was, post-surgery, feeling just as though a second had passed. Had he not realized that he wasn't in the OR anymore, he probably would've continued counting down. His fascination with the anesthetic was short-lived however, as he quickly began assessing just how uncomfortable he felt.

He felt weak. Weak and groggy. He desperately wanted to sleep, but the entirety of his body still ached. And he was cold, shivering all over. _The hell did they use to set my bones, ice picks?_

Goddammit was he cold. He wanted a blanket. Hell, he wanted three more blankets. _Isn't there a button somewhere, to call a nurse or something? Where's that lady, Rena?_ He tried calling out for a nurse, but his throat was too sore. Why was his mouth so dry? Frustrated, he didn't know what to do but wait.

 _Tried to kill myself cause I felt like shit, but thankfully some good Samaritans saved me. Now, I can physically feel like shit on top of generally feeling like shit._

 _Fantastic._

Finally, a nurse checked on him. Not Rena, it was some blonde little woman. She helped him sit up on the stretcher. He gestured at his throat. "Water, sweetie?" He sighed. _Yes, little Newtie wants some water, lady._ He nodded. She came back with a plastic glass that Newt eagerly gulped. "It's the anesthesia, don't worry about it," she explained, "Clears everything out of your head, you know? Thoughts, saliva, all of it. You just rest up now. Are you cold? Can I get you something? Most patients are cold. Just another side effect of the deep sleep." Newt nodded again. In less than a minute, he was covered with a warm blanket. "Don't worry, honey. Doc said it went well, that you should heal okay. You'll be back on your feet in no time. Best thing you can do now is rest, give your body time to heal. You just call me if you need anything."

He watched her as she left the room.

 _Well, these stupidly good Samaritans did spend their valuable time on me. Their valuable medical resources, too._

 _When the hell did I become so bitter? I may not be happy, but at least I should be thankful. Didn't I use to know better than to take things for granted…?_

Irritated yet exhausted, Newt pushed aside all thoughts and was quickly asleep.

–

Newt awoke to footsteps approaching. _Oh, more of this? Waking up and finding I'm still alive? Yeah, it's getting old._ He remembered the talk that Doctor Lab Coat had given him, about potential complications during his surgery. "We take all the precautions needed," he had said, "Really, we do. Still, sometimes, the body simply can't take it." He had proceeded by listing all the possible complications, including– "very, no, _extremely_ rarely, " – death. _So there was still a chance. But no, I've pushed through this as well. Guess I'm a survivor. Ha._

The footsteps reached his bed. _Speaking of my guardian angel._

"How're you feeling, Mr. Phillips?" asked Doctor Eddard.

"Just call me Newt," he answered, trying to sit up, "I'm, uh– the hell?" he felt something hugging his groin. _Oh for heaven's sake, I'm wearing a diaper._ His eyes fell to his lap. Then to the edge of the bed.

 _Please tell me that's not my piss in that bag. Fuck. It is, isn't it?_

 _Is that tube..? Oh, Christ. Yeah, that's a catheter alright._

Newt was at a loss of words.

 _Yes, a catheter shoved in my dick._ He grimaced.

Evidently sensing his discomfort, Doctor Eddard explained, "Yes, unfortunately, you can't leave your bed until tomorrow. It's to ensure optimal recovery. We have everything at your disposal to make you comfortable in here. The nurses will help you with anything you need. Right, now," he sat on the edge of the bed, "Let's talk recovery, eh?" With that, he began.

Newt listened to most of Lab Coat's monologue. Blondie nurse's inside had been right. Yes, the surgery had apparently been a success. They had set his bones straight, no complications to be had. Once they would take the stiches out, in a day or two, it would be time for a full-leg cast. That would stay on for at least twelve weeks, up to eighteen, depending on the healing process. The cast would have to be reapplied each six weeks.

Newt didn't know what to make of that schedule. He couldn't imagine what six weeks from now would be like. He hadn't planned on being around. He couldn't grasp the tangible aspect of the future anymore. _Six weeks, huh? That's a lot of days; lots of opportunities. Perhaps you'd be better off keeping your plaster, I may not be around that long._

 _Or maybe I will? I don't even know anymore._

The doctor had also tackled the subject of Newt's overall physical health. "The shortage of nutrients in your blood is making it difficult for your body to function. Have you experienced weakness in the past weeks? Dizziness? Really Mr. Phill– I mean Newt, the lack of iron in your blood is severe. It's why you're so pale. It's also why your pupils are dilated, which won't help with the light sensitivity. But, most importantly, it's keeping you from getting the energy you need. I'm prescribing iron and vitamin supplements to aid you in your recovery. If I may, I'd also suggest seeing a nutritionist."

 _What? My pupils? Dilatation by lack of iron?_ Newt wasn't aware of this particular side effect of anemia, but he thought it very interesting _. If I wanted to be poetic, I'd say that my self-inflicted malnourishment affected my vision of the world. Perhaps if I ate some chocolate, I'd start seeing the world in color again._

"Aside from that, there'll obviously be physiotherapy. You'll be well looked after by our team of professionals. They'll help you regain movement and autonomy. Well, _some_ of it, at least. Results tend to… vary. Some patients regain full function, while others don't. I don't want to make promises I can't keep."

 _So I'm a cripple now, is that so?_

 _Well, Newt, you definitely brought this one upon yourself._

"And that's it, really, for the physical aspect of your recovery. You've got a long road ahead of you, but we'll provide all the aid you'll need. We're here to support you, Newt," he softly stated, nodding and, once again, smiling. _Yes, yes, I get it, together we'll brave storms and mount mountains._

"Now then, for the more _psychological_ aspect of things," _ah, finally, here we go,_ "let me introduce you to Doctors Sterling and Jane. They'll tell you everything about the procedure. Here they are."

–

Newt didn't pay much attention to names. They were all just lab coats to him. Entitled lab coats who saved people, regardless of whether people wanted to be saved or not. _Oh, you altruists, always so busy doing good._

Shrinks number one and two were both women, probably nearing their fifties. They had begun by inquiring about Newt's fall. Had it been an accident? Had it been entirely intentional, then? Was the purpose of the fall self-harm or, ultimately, death?

Once it had been verbally established, beyond a doubt, that Newt had indeed attempted to end his life, the interrogation had shifted towards his state of mind. Had he been depressed prior to the incident? If so, for how long? How was he feeling now?

When asked whether or not he still wanted to die, Newt remained silent. He considered the question.

What had been absolute certainty some mere hours ago was now somewhat of a blur. Was this a common side effect of botched suicides? Had coming so close to death somehow revived his survival instincts? All of a sudden, the idea of his skull cracking open didn't sound so appealing. _But wouldn't all the worries be gone, once my brain is scattered on the floor?_ Newt cringed at the thought.

 _Why is this bothering me now? So what, am I just gonna go back to my shithole of a flat, back to how it all was before? Because I'm bloody sure I don't want that._

 _I didn't want to die before either. And then one day, I did. Maybe I will again. Maybe I still do. Maybe it's just the anesthesia fucking with my mind._

 _Do I still want to die? Don't know. One thing's for sure, though._

"I don't want to live," Newt finally replied.

–

When asked about voluntary commitment to the psychiatric ward, Newt very clearly stated, "Fuck no."

Involuntary commitment had thus been brought up. According to protocol, such measures were to be instated in cases of attempted suicides, based on the professional opinions of more than one mental health physician. _Well that explains why I was honored with the two of them._

Shrink number one briefly explained the procedure, her demeanor cold. "Doctor Jane and I believe that you may still be a danger to yourself, Mr. Phillips. Therefore, we are choosing to commit you to our care for a period of three days, the maximum allowed by the state. We are here to ensure that you do not try to hurt yourself again. Trust us when we say that we only have your best interests at heart."

Number two softly sighed and then spoke up. "Doctor Sterling is right, Newt, " she began with a soothing voice, "We just want to help you in your recovery. Many survivors of suicidal attempts try to kill themselves again subsequently, and that's above all what we want to avoid. During your stay with us, you will be surrounded by people with only one purpose: helping you and others in situations like yours. You will partake in therapy sessions, both individual and in group, as well as in various activities. I can only hope that you will let us help you, Newt. If you don't, then you may possibly continue down the road from which you came... We are here at your disposal but, in the end, it is up to you whether or not you'll accept the help we can give you."

She crossed the room and came back with a clear IV bag, which she hooked to the tubes that ran through his left arm. "Morphine, to help with the pain since your anesthetic's effect is almost over. Obviously, you would've gotten some pain medication anyway, but maybe you could think of this as a gift. As if I were just casually trying to buy your trust," she said, teasingly. "You should start feeling it soon. Hopefully you'll get a good night's sleep out of it."

And with that, Newt decided that he didn't dislike shrink num– _Doctor Jane_ , all that much. But maybe it was just the morphine talking, as it began working its magic almost-instantaneously.

–

 _Oh my god. Oh my god._

Newt felt warm, cozy, calm. More than anything, he wanted to hold onto this feeling. Pain was nothing but a long-forgotten concept. Worries, doubts and fears were exiled in a far-away land. He was free from all suffering, of the body and the mind alike. Free of all, he was a feather, weightless. He could finally fly.

He fought the drowsiness. He tried to keep his eyelids open, tried to experience it to the fullest, yet he could not fight his body's exhaustion. Needing to recover more than ever, he finally yielded, allowing a peaceful darkness to embrace him.

–

 _I was so well. So, so well._

 _Now I'm cold again. Fucking freezing._

 _There's ice; there's snow. Everything's white, it's hurting my eyes. The skies are colorless. I'm alone, and slowly losing sensation in my extremities. There's nothing in front of me. Nothing behind._

 _It's all slippery. I can't even walk straight, I'm wobbling. I'm shivering. I have no balance. I fall down, my beak hurts. I try to get back on my feet, but my wings can't support me._

 _Wings? Have I always had wings? I mean, yeah, probably. Don't just grow these overnight, do you?_

 _I'm still not able to get back on my feet. I manage to roll on my back, facing the sky._

 _This is a wasteland. It's desolate. It's cold. Unforgiving. I just want to get out, but there's nothing, not in any direction._

 _I'm a penguin. I've just remembered. Why had I forgotten? How do you forget who you are? This isn't normal, right?_

 _I'm a penguin and this is my home. But where are the others? Have they migrated yet? Have I been left behind? Shit. I have to find someone. I've got to get out of here. We all cuddle to keep warm and survive. Can't do it by myself, I'll die here. I'm already dying here._

 _I'm on my belly now. Somehow I manage to get on my knees, and then up again, on my feet. The wind is so strong, it's threatening to make me collapse again._

 _Wait! What's that? I'm hearing something. Where is it coming from?_

 _I look around. Nothing._

 _It's up there! In the sky! I can hear the flapping! I can see his black wings!_

 _Holy shit._

 _His wings are huge. He's so beautiful, flying over me. It's an Albatross. I've never seen anything quite like it._

 _Wait! Where are you going? No! Come back!_

 _Take me with you, don't leave me here. Please! Hey, Albatross! I'm down here! Wait!_

 _I can't stay here. I'm dying here. This wind is so strong. Hey, there's wind! That's right! And I have wings. Just you wait for me!_

 _I spread my half-frozen wings. I flap. I kick. I scream. I try. And try. And try._

 _I jump. I flap. I scream. The ground is latched to my feet._

 _He's further away now, only a speck of darkness in the sky._

 _NO! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! ALBATROSS!_

 _Everything's gone silent again. Everything's white again._

 _I'm dying here._

–

Newt awoke violently, panicking. He was gasping for air, cold sweat dripping from his forehead and a shiver running down his spine. His leg was screaming bloody murder. His cardiac monitor had gone haywire.

The pain was back, in all its glory. The morphine had evidently run its course.

Newt tried to breathe, still shaken. It had been so vivid, so strong. Had it truly just been a dream?

 _What in the fuck was that..? What on earth…_

Though he had tried, Newt was unable to go back to sleep. He was too cold, too scared. In the darkness of his room, he found a semblance of calm. He would not go back that blinding desert of white. He would not shut his eyes again.

Thoughts of the albatross kept him awake. His majestic wings, his flight. Newt sighed. Through the darkness, he scanned the painful remains of his leg.

 _All I ever wanted was to fly. Now I can't even walk._

–

 **A/N. Thank you so very much for reading! Also, thank you to the two amazing people who reviewed, it truly made me happy.** **Anonymoose** **, I couldn't reply because, well, you were anonymous, but thank you. There will indeed be quite a few references to Isaac Newton, Thomas Edison and others, because I am a lover of science, and that those references were some of my favorite parts of TMR.**

 **I hope this chapter wasn't too technical or boring, but I just felt like the first step towards recovery is crucial and should be well fleshed out, and this is my idea of that.**

 **Also, first bit of dialogue. If I had it my way, characters would only gesticulate, grunt and cogitate. Alas, I think it would make for quite a boring read. If anybody would be so kind as to let me know what they thought of the dialogue, or the chapter in general, I would very much appreciated it.**

 **Finally, should everything go as planned, at last, Thomas may steal a few paragraphs from the next chapter.**

 **-Levi**


End file.
